Escape from Hell

by Stuart, V. A.

  “Then we should have to move out to take them with infantry?” Colonel Kelly offered, frowning. “Since the bridge must be preserved at all costs?”

  “Precisely, sir,” Wilson agreed. “The bridge is our sole link with the Commander-in-Chief’s forces in Oudh.” He hesitated, glancing at General Windham, who gestured to him to continue, sensing that his revelations concerning the entrenchment had had a profound effect on his listeners. Wilson sighed. “In my considered opinion, gentlemen,” he said flatly, “we cannot abandon the city and simply wait, in our defensive works, for the enemy to attack us. With the bare five hundred men we were originally left with, such a course might have been forced upon us but with your reinforcements, we have room for manoeuvre and in my view, we should use it. Apart from being militarily unsound, to abandon the native city to pillage and arson by the Nana’s troops would greatly damage our prestige … and prestige is important in our present situation. Every defeat we suffer gives birth to more rebels, but every victory brings the waverers and the fearful flocking back to their allegiance. They are simple people, gentlemen, to whom might is right and who see safety only in being on the winning side.” He talked on, persuasively, and General Windham listened with controlled impatience, inwardly cursing the failure of his cossids to bring him the answer he needed from his Commander-in-Chief.

  One victory, as old Wilson had said, might be all that was needed to send the Gwalior troops back across the Jumna … but the chance of such a victory was now, without further delay, when the rebels were in detached bodies and each vulnerable to attack by his twelve hundred British bayonets. Once they joined forces, the initiative would be theirs, even to the choice of battlefield and the time and manner of attack. But Wilson was now going off at a tangent, losing the thread of his argument and laying too much stress on the defence of the native city …

  “Apart from any question of morale,” the old Brigadier said earnestly, “we are expecting a large influx of ladies and little children, as well as wounded, from Lucknow. Bungalows have been made ready to receive them in some degree of comfort, poor souls, which they will need after their long ordeal. To attempt to accommodate them in our entrenchment would result, I fear, in many deaths due to chaotic overcrowding. And then there are the stores and baggage, the reserves of ammunition Sir Colin’s force left here. We—”

  “General Wilson”—the Artillery commander, General Dupuis, interrupted him, his tone curt—“are you advocating the attack on Shewlie and Shirajpore or merely that we should defend the native city against the Nana’s anticipated attack?”

  “I …” The staunch old Brigadier reddened, turning to glance unhappily at Windham. “I’m endeavouring to make the situation clear to those who have just arrived here, sir. I have been here for a long time and …” Meeting Windham’s gaze, he broke off, and added with more than a hint of resentment, “I’m advocating the defence of the native city, certainly, sir, and in my view, General Windham’s plan to use the canal is a sound one, provided—”

  “Provided the Commander-in-Chief agrees to it, I imagine,” Dupuis put in. His eyes, blue and hard beneath their beetling white brows, met those of General Windham. “Which, I understand, so far he has not?”

  Faced with a direct question, the General reluctantly shook his head. “I’ve requested his approval. As I told you, I sent details of my proposal to use the canal but communication with Lucknow has been cut off for the past five days, so I have no means of knowing whether or not my messenger got through.”

  “In that case, sir,” Dupuis returned bluntly, “I fear you have no choice but to wait until you receive a reply from Sir Colin or his Chief of Staff. We do not know how they are faring, do we? And your orders allow you no latitude, save in the question of whether to defend or abandon the native city. In the light of what Brigadier Wilson has told us, it would seem desirable that it should be held, since to abandon it would place both the bridge and the entrenchment in a precarious position. And”—he shrugged—“with only ten guns and seventeen hundred bayonets all told, I think the task will tax us to the limit, without running the risk of a reverse at Shewlie or Shirajpore, fifteen miles away. That, sir, would be disastrous, to say the least.”

  It was what he had expected of Dupuis, General Windham reflected, conscious of disappointment nonetheless when he heard the murmurs of agreement with which the other commanding officers greeted the old artilleryman’s words. None of them were prepared to back him up if he exceeded his orders. Even Wilson had struck a note of caution although yesterday evening, when they had discussed his plan to attack the mutineers’ divided forces from the canal, the Brigadier had appeared enthusiastic. He could overrule them, of course—he was in command, the final decision his alone but … He gave vent to an audible sigh. Without the support of his senior commanders, the risk was too great and he dared not take it.

  “General Windham.” Dupuis laid a hand on his arm. His voice had lost its note of harshness as he said, “At any other time, I’d have agreed wholeheartedly with your proposal to attack an advancing enemy … boldness always pays. But at all costs this place—and the bridge—must be held and, if things have gone badly for Sir Colin Campbell at Lucknow, we may be called upon to send the major part of our force to his aid. That’s a possibility of which we must not lose sight, sir … and you’ve had no news for five days, have you?”

  Windham shook his head. “Then, General,” the Royal Artillery commander suggested, “why not advance your main body to the bridge by which the Calpee and Delhi roads cross the canal?” He jabbed at the map. “Their main body was last reported at Calpee, so that it will advance from there and you would be showing a bold front, which might well deter them, if they’re still hesitating. You would have sufficient troops available to patrol the roads should they attempt to get round your rear, and the canal to serve as a wide, wet ditch along your entire front. In addition, you would be in position to carry out your canal operation, should the Commander-in-Chief give his assent to it, would you not?”

  “I should, yes,” Windham assented. He was relieved that this suggestion should have come from Dupuis; it was the position he himself had earlier decided to take up, whether or not his canal plan met with their approval, since it left him the option of carrying it out if this seemed expedient. To the rear of the Calpee Bridge and his present camp lay an area of open ground, broken by high mounds which had been built up over some abandoned brick kilns and here, since the mounds offered a ready-made defensive position, he had resolved to meet an enemy attack. Field guns could be mounted in commanding positions on the mounds, there was adequate cover for infantry and supply waggons and, from the summit of the highest mound, a good view of the surrounding countryside could be obtained. He and Brigadier Carthew had reconnoitred the area soon after the arrival of the Madras Brigade … He met Carthew’s gaze and saw that he was smiling. Evidently the Brigadier had been talking to Dupuis and … Gratefully he acknowledged the Madras officer’s smile.

  “An admirable compromise, General Dupuis,” he acknowledged. “Unless anyone has an alternative suggestion to offer, I …” He was interrupted by his aide, Lieutenant Swires, who hurried to his side and excitedly thrust a tiny spill of paper into his hand.

  “A cossid from Lucknow at last, sir!” he said. “I thought I had better bring it to you at once.”

  “Thank you, Roger.” Slowly and carefully, General Windham unrolled the wafer-thin spill and the other officers watched him in silence as he sought, with some difficulty, to decipher the message it contained.

  “Is it from the Commander-in-Chief, sir?” Carthew asked eagerly. “Are we to attack from the canal?”

  Windham slowly shook his head. His voice was strained as he answered. “No, it’s from the Commissariat Officer of the Lucknow column. He asks me to send ten days’ provisions for the whole force. He gives no news of the garrison—simply says, devil take him, that he can express no opinion on military matters!”

  “But for God’
s sake!” General Dupuis exclaimed, exasperated. “Ten days’ provisions—that can only mean that Sir Colin has met with a setback!”

  “Or that he has the rescued garrison to feed,” Carthew argued.

  “It also means,” General Windham stated grimly, “that if I send him these provisions, I shall have to send a strong escort and all my available transport. Far from launching an attack on the enemy, gentlemen, we shall have our work cut out to defend ourselves if we’re attacked!”

  “But you will send them, sir?” old Brigadier Wilson questioned. “You will send the provisions? The rescued garrison and the women and children will be starving.”

  “What choice have I?” Windham spread his hands helplessly, hard put to it to conceal his dismay. “As General Dupuis has pointed out, my orders leave me with little latitude. I must support the Commander-in-Chief and, if he requires ten days’ provisions, then I’m bound to send them.”

  “This request comes from the Commissariat, not from the Commander-in-Chief, sir,” Colonel Adye reminded him. “And it will take at least 24 hours to assemble the supplies and the necessary carriage.”

  A gleam of heartfelt relief lit General Windham’s dark eyes. “By heaven, you’re right, John! We’ll make the necessary preparations but delay despatching any supplies to Lucknow until tomorrow evening. By then, perhaps, the Commander-in-Chief or General Mansfield will confirm these instructions and give me some idea of their situation. In the meantime, let us make our show of strength while we’ve still sufficient troops available to make it. We will move camp to the Calpee Bridge this afternoon, gentlemen!”

  Leaving four companies of the Queen’s 64th and the usual complement of gunners to hold the fort, the rest of the British force crossed the Ganges Canal by the Calpee road bridge and made camp. Next morning a second cossid arrived, bearing a despatch from General Mansfield, in which he stated that the Commander-in-Chief would commence the journey to Cawnpore on the morning of November 27th bringing with him the evacuated survivors of the Residency garrison. No mention was made of commissariat stores or of his proposed plan of attack on the Gwalior mutineers, and General Windham reluctantly rescinded his order for the collection of canal boats.

  Just before dusk on the evening of the 25th, a police sowar galloped into camp with the information that zamindari levies were crossing the river from Oudh and that a division of the Gwalior rebels, numbering about three thousand, with cavalry and six field-guns, had taken up an offensive position on the Pandoo Nuddy River, less than three miles from the camp. Windham did not waste time conferring with his commanders.

  “Have the camp struck and the troops under arms at first light,” he instructed Colonel Adye. “We’ll aim a swift, hard blow at them across the Pandoo Nuddy and then fall back on the brick kilns to cover our base. If we can hit them hard enough, it may deter their main body and the Nana’s levies from coming any closer. God, how I wish we had a squadron of British cavalry to bring us reliable intelligence of the Nana’s movements! It makes me deuced uneasy, not knowing for certain what he’s up to or how many of the Delhi regiments have joined him—it’s like going into battle blindfolded.”

  At dawn, escorted by nine men of the 9th Lancers and a handful of Native Irregulars—all the cavalry he had—the General rode forward to reconnoitre, still uneasy. But seeing, through his field glasses, that the red-coated Gwalior sepoys were preparing to continue their advance, he ordered his own troops to commence their attack.

  They did so, in dashing style, led by four companies of the Rifle Brigade in skirmishing order under their Colonel, Walpole, to be met by a heavy fire of artillery from guns posted on the far side of the dried-up bed of the Pandoo Nuddy. From the enemy’s right, a large body of cavalry made a spirited charge but this was repulsed by the 34th who formed square, smote them with a crashing volley from their Enfield rifles, and sent them flying back in confusion. The British column deployed and, led by the 88th—the Connaught Rangers— charged with the bayonet, cheering as they went. The river bed was crossed, the position carried with a rush, and a village, more than half a mile to the rear, taken at bayonet point. The mutineers retreated rapidly, leaving two 8-inch howitzers and a six-pounder gun behind them in their haste.

  But Windham’s jubilation at his easy victory was short lived. As his troops gathered, cheering, about the captured guns he saw, from a raised mound on the other side of the village, that the mutineers’ main body—rank upon rank, numbering at least ten thousand—was advancing to meet him. Smartly uniformed and perfectly disciplined, the Gwalior infantry marched with parade-ground precision, with their Colours in their centre. Cavalry skirmishers were spread out ahead of them and their teams of horse-, bullock- and elephant-drawn guns were positioned at their centre and on either flank.

  Some distance to their rear, an ominous cloud of dust rose skyward, heralding the arrival of still more troops—the Nana’s levies, General Windham thought dully, seeing the sunlight glint on steel-tipped lances and catching the far-off sound of beating drums. The Nana’s levies, which he had supposed to be forty miles away in Oudh! Fervently cursing his lack of cavalry, he lowered his field-glasses and turned to Dupuis.

  “It would seem, General,” he observed wryly, “that we delayed too long—the rebels will join their forces within the next two hours. Those we have just defeated formed only their leading division.”

  General Dupuis inclined his head gravely. “I take it, sir,” he said, “that you will now fall back to protect the entrenched fort and the Bridge of Boats?”

  “I can do little else.” Windham shrugged despondently. His voice flat, he gave the required orders to his staff. “I intend to save the native city from pillage if I can. We’ll fall back to the old brick kilns on this side of the canal. If they attack us, we’ll meet them there.”

  “We shall be out-gunned, as well as outnumbered, General,” Dupuis warned. “I think, sir, you would be wise to send a messenger to inform Sir Colin Campbell at once. Perhaps he may be able to hasten his return.”

  “Perhaps,” General Windham spoke bitterly. “But I doubt it—I doubt it very much, sir.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  As the long line of plodding gun-bullocks moved slowly past the walls of the Alam Bagh Palace, four miles to the south of Lucknow, Commander Phillip Horatio Hazard, of HMS Shannon’s Naval Brigade, inspected the great twenty-four-pounder siege-gun to which they were yoked with a critical eye. All appeared to be in order and he waved to the crew to proceed.

  The sixty-five-hundredweight iron monster was one of six which, together with two 8-inch howitzers and a pair of rocketlaunching tubes, were manned by the two hundred seamen and Royal Marines of the Naval Brigade attached to the Lucknow Relief Force. In addition to the gunners required to serve their formidable weapons, the Brigade had two seamanrifle companies, trained to march and fight like soldiers, and six light field-guns, each commanded by a midshipman. All had proved their worth in the hard fought battle to save the beleagured British garrison in the Lucknow Residency and now, their task accomplished, the Brigade was bringing up the rear of a ten-mile-long column making its way back to Cawnpore.

  Not all in the column were fighting men. A force of four thousand, with 25 guns, had been left in the Alam Bagh, under the command of Major-General Sir James Outram, to hold off pursuit and keep the rebel-held city in check. In consequence, only three thousand men of all arms remained to guard the women and children and the sick and wounded—numbering almost two thousand now—whose doolies and hackeries formed the bulk of the procession. Moving with equal slowness were the ammunition and baggage waggons, the native camp followers and servants and the host of camels, elephants, and bullocks which carried the column’s tents, provisions, and camp equipment.

  It had taken the better part of a week to bring them this far. Phillip Hazard’s mouth tightened, as he remembered the gnawing anxiety he had endured when first the garrison’s sick and wounded and then the surviving families had been smuggled out of the R
esidency under cover of darkness, with only a thin line of piquets between them and the thousands of mutineers who still held the city in a ring of steel. The Shannon’s heavy siege-guns had bombarded the enemy-occupied Kaiser Bagh 24 hours a day, for three days, in order to delude the rebel leaders into believing that an attack on their fortress was imminent. Instead, leaving lamps and candles still burning in the shell-scarred Residency buildings, the garrison’s rearguard had slipped silently from their posts—gaunt, half-starved men in ragged uniforms—to join the ranks of their rescuers in the Dilkusha Park … and the rebels had not known that they had gone until long after the last man had completed the perilous journey.

  And … Phillip’s expression relaxed. Miraculously his prayers had been answered—his sister Harriet, with her two small children, had been among those who had lived through the 140-day siege. All three of them were in a packed bullock cart, already several miles along the dusty road to Cawnpore where, tragically, his younger sister, Lavinia, had died … brutally murdered, with the other women and children of General Wheeler’s garrison, in a small, yellow-painted house in the native city where the traitor, Nana, had held them captive. He had seen that house, seen with his own eyes the evidence of what had been done there and … for all his familiarity with the horrors or war, Phillip shivered, wishing that he could erase the memory of what he had seen from his mind.